


Legacy of Heroes | Vol. 0: Threads are Woven | PJO/MCU Crossover

by DemigodOfAgni



Series: Legacy of Heroes | Marvel/Percy Jackson Crossover [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Annabeth Chase is badass, Chiron be old, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Grover Underwood is innocent too, Hey look a Percy Jackson/Spider-Man crossover, Iron Man - Freeform, It's never been seen before!, Love is in the Air, Magic, May Parker is very protective, Percy Jackson is also badass, Peter Parker is innocent okay, Spider-Man - Freeform, Tony Stark is best dad okay, aNAKLUSMOS slash RIPTIDE, also this is my first time on ao3 please bear with me, and evil monsters, and so are the bad guys, and so is Tyson, bad guys are big, badass weaponry, basically this whole thing is a giant washing machine, but the good guys always win, dRONEY - Freeform, demigods are everywhere, good guys are small, hera im looking at you, like everywhere, maybe some whump hahh, okay lots oF WHUMP, or do they, powers, the gods are doing whatever they want, unbelievably huge amounts of sarcasm and nihilism and pessimism, with lots of random LSD like moments, you'll love it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-01-02 23:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21169706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemigodOfAgni/pseuds/DemigodOfAgni
Summary: ||Legacy of Heroes||Marvel Cinematic Universe/Percy Jackson and the Olympians Crossover[Can also be found on Wattpad]There was always a line dividing the worlds of science and myth. But as usual, a cataclysmic event will occur and the line will blur until the inhabitants of both worlds finally see each other in a new light. Superheroes and creatures of magic will live amongst each other from now on. Villains and monsters scheme together to bring about the end of the world.And what does the universe call on?A kid in spandex and teenagers wielding swords.Or in short, Spider-Man meets the demigods and all Hades breaks loose.Listen, as much I love PJO and the MCU, it's comes with no surprise that I don't own them. The PJO/HoO universe belongs to Rick Riordan, and the MCU belongs to Marvel Studios/Marvel.





	1. Volume 0 || Threads are Woven

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. First time here. I'm 'Alex-Fierro17' on Wattpad, and 'TheSeventhWheel7' on DeviantArt. Surprising that you've found me. Nevertheless, here I am, gifting you Marvel/PJO fans the biggest crossover event of the century!! (actually Kevin Feige pulled off the biggest crossover of the century but ssshhHHH)
> 
> Okay okay, I'll stop, but you - YOU - you better start reading this~

>   
**0**•**0 || Volume 0: Threads are Woven**

_It felt great._   
_ It felt powerful._   
_ It felt like a god._   
_ It felt...like it was dying._

_ It could hear her calling._   
_ It wanted to listen to her song._   
_ It needed to feed, to numb the pain._   
_ And...there he was._

_ It hovered above him._   
_ It slide down his flesh._   
_ And finally, overcome by hunger..._   
_ ...it died._


	2. 0•1 || Don't Try to Throw Up Again

> **0•1 || Don't Try to Throw Up Again**  
****

Peter had mixed feelings about vomiting.

Sure, ultimately, they sucked – having to wrench in your gut and just let your insides gush out of your mouth, the process barely letting you have a nice, clean breath of air. And even when you do, that air tastes like bile, which just makes you want to throw up again.

Peter hunched over the bathroom sink, clutching at the porcelain frame, his glasses sliding down his nose, Ned's hand pressed firmly over his shoulder in a soothing manner.

Another heave. Peter reached over to turn the tap on and washed away the mushed-up contents in the sink. He groaned.

'Hey, man, it's cool,' Ned said quietly, rubbing Peter's back. 'Just...let it all out, it'll be better once you do.'

'You make it sound like I've gone through a heck lot of torture,' Peter muttered, cupping his hands and collecting water from the running tap and splashing it over his mouth to wash away the dribble. The back of his right hand burned, and he tried to ignore it, but he just...couldn't.

Two small grey dots were pressed into his skin, turning the surrounding flesh an angry red. He scratched at the area, wincing as the dots seemed to press in deeper.

Frowning, he pinched the area with his left thumb and forefinger – he winced again – and squeezed.

Ned was saying something, but only gibberish reached Peter's ears. The grey dots popper out of his skin and rolled down his hand and into the sink. He watched as blood traced down his hand, then stuck it in the stream of flowing water. It didn't hurt this time.

'...dude? Peter, dude, you okay?' asked Ned.

'I don't know,' Peter replied, eyes transfixed on the steady flow of blood from the wounds on the back of his hand.

'Because I'm pretty sure you're not okay,' Ned said. 'Um, do you need a tissue? To stop the blood?'

Peter wasn't sure. He rinsed his hand again, turned off the tap and straightened, readjusting his rectangular glasses. His stomach had settled down somewhat, but his legs felt weak from being bent for so long. His head was dizzy, and the world seemed to pulse around him, switching from greys to colours and back to black and white again.

Inhaling sharply, he reached for Ned and said quietly, 'I'm okay. For real, man. Can...can we go now?'

Ned nodded quickly, so fast that Peter could see the flesh around his friend's neck quiver from the action. Did that always happen? Why hadn't he noticed that before? Weird.

Ned grabbed two sheets of tissue from the tissue dispenser and handed one to Peter while he folded the second and pressed it on Peter's bleeding hand. 'Come on, dude, let's get going before everyone leaves without us.'

Without much input, Peter let Ned lead them both to the door and outside. The freezing breeze from the air conditioners gushed through the air and curled around Peter's burning hand. The large, green plants that were placed near the bathroom doors smelled like liquorice (for a reason that Peter could not yet understand). The fluorescent lights flickered, and he could hear the electricity buzzing.

'Honestly, though, what happened?' Ned asked, steering Peter away from a wall.

Peter sniffed. 'Not sure,' he muttered, scratching the side of nose, just underneath his glasses' nose pad. 'Something...bit me? Or I hit it by accident, and I squashed it.'

'Well, what could have bit you?'

Peter closed his eyes. He tried to think back a few minutes ago, just before he found himself leaning into the bathroom sink with his face green. Where were they again? A Midtown High science excursion – to Oscorp Industries, was it? Yeah, there. Here. Whatever.

'Lots'a, um, experiments, right?' Peter asked.

Ned grunted as he slightly pushed Peter to one side to avoid getting hit by Oscorp staff. 'Heh. Um, yeah.'

'Which one did we visit?'

'The radiology one. You know, the isotope genome accelerator.'

A spike of pain stabbed Peter at the back of his head, and he was suddenly blinded by light. He could feel himself falling, but that couldn't be possible, right? He was in a building, no where near windows, and he was with his best friend.

He was so confused. So, so, _so_ confused. He just wanted it to stop, to wake up, and realise that he had accidentally walked into a door that Flash had intentionally left open.

Peter opened his eyes.

He was in a room. His entire class was there. He could feel a set of dark eyes on him, boring holes into the back of his head like lasers, but when he looked around, no one was looking at him. Their attention was snagged by the large machine in front of them.

A control table covered with buttons and levers and glowing screens. Branching out from it were two silver poles, lined with colourful wires, and topped with large, clear glass spheres, with a small metallic orb in the centre of both. They resembled plasma balls – energy spiralling out of the centre orb and sliding over the inside of the glass dome surrounding it.

The isotope genome accelerator.

Peter stared at it. No, not just stared – he _heard _it. He could _feel_ it. Every little vibration seemed like an avalanche against his skin. The machine seemed to hum...if he could remember, it sounded like a C note. The frequency getting higher, and higher, until finally he was sure his brain was going to explode—

_—A spider fell onto his hand—_

Silence.

Peter blinked.

One of the Oscorp staff had turned the accelerator off, and turned, flashing a bright smile. The lady – Peter squinted at her nametag, but he couldn't see her name, even with his glasses – called out, saying that Midtown High was an _exceptionally wonderful_ school that had ever visited Oscorp, and that all her co-workers were willing to have another visit from this school.

Peter's classmates all cheered at the prospect of visiting more technology and science displays at high-end science companies, but all Peter wanted was sleep.

And Peter did sleep, on the bus, that was.

He woke up a half hour later, rubbing a hand over his stiff face in an effort to wipe away the drowsiness. Ned was still sitting beside him – sweet, glorious Ned, with his black hair and brown skin and undeniably comforting face. Peter wouldn't be able to do anything if it weren't for his friend.

The two quickly got off the bus, but with Parker Luck hanging over Peter's head like a cloud, the remaining hours of the day did not go in his favour.

A teacher had noticed his pale and sweaty face on the ride back from Oscorp, and immediately told Ned to take Peter to the school's medical bay.

Peter groaned, defending that it was nothing too serious. Maybe he came down with the flu, he had said. Nothing could go wrong if it was the flu.

Besides, he didn't want Aunt May to fret over him. Because, what if it _was_ serious? What if she had to take him to the doctor? Just visiting a local GP would be way over their spending budget, and Peter would be guilty for days on end if that did have to go, knowing he probably ended a good meal that was planned for a month.

The teacher was unconvinced. He literally shoved Ned and Peter out of the door and pointed them down the corridor towards the office, before slamming the door shut with a resonating _BANG_.

At least, it sounded like a bang. Peter wasn't sure of anything at this point.

Moments later, Peter was alone in the sick bay. Ned had to leave, and the school nurse hovered over Peter like a butterfly addicted to nectar. Peter watched her scribble into a little book, the scratches of the pen on paper reaching his ears before dying completely when she got up and phoned someone.

Peter heard Aunt May's voice on the other end.

He was in a strawberry field.

Peter didn't know when he got there, or how he got there, but the only thing he knew in that moment was that he was in a strawberry field.

The summer sun on his back, warming him from head to foot, with the cool breeze billowing around him. The sweet smell of the strawberries wafted through the air, filling him with a sense of calm and delight.

Past the strawberry field was a large, dark forest, which seemed to stretch on for miles. Somewhere further along that, Peter heard the sound of waves crashing along the shore. He turned his head slightly to the right and found the glittering blue ocean nestled near the horizon.

The view was so serene, he almost didn't want to leave. Almost.

The nagging urge for Peter to find out _where_ he was managed to make him get to his feet slowly. He stretched his legs, looking around. It was just him in the strawberry field, and the forest, and the faraway ocean.

Peter, after brushing the dirt off his pants, began to walk slowly through the field. He tread over the ground, careful not to step on any of the plants.

He didn't know how long he was walking for, until he saw something in the distance.

A large blue house, with white trimmings and a few windows. It looked about three storeys tall, with a small wooden porch surrounding it, and a table and a couple of chairs.

Peter jogged the rest of the way there, feeling slightly winded. He climbed onto the porch, trying to look for a door before he realised he was at the back of the house. He walked along the porch, looking for the door when he stopped in his tracks.

The house was set on a large hill, and it was facing a steep slope. At the bottom of the hill was...nothing. Just fields upon fields of grass and little flowers and the occasional tree. To the left was the thick forest, and just beyond that was the sandy shore and the blue waves lapping against it.

It was a perfectly normal place, with a little blue holiday house set on top of a hill.

Then why did it feel like something was there? Like there was something missing, yet it was right in front of him?

The breeze stopped. The waves ceased, and the water fell silent. The rustling leaves on the trees and the grass stilled. The sky grew dark.

It became way too quiet way too fast.

Peter backed up against the house's walls, unease settling on top of him like quicksand. It felt like the silence was pressing against him, confining him into an invisible box, with no room, and no way of escape—

'Hey!' someone shouted. Peter turned his head to the right. The door to the blue house was closed, and no one was in sight. Who called out to him?

'It's me, genius,' the voice said. 'Now you might want to get out of the way – something's _coming_—'

Peter heard something.

'—_from_—'

He looked at the creaking door.

'—_behind_—'

The windows began to rattle.

'—_you_.'

The wall Peter was leaning on splintered to pieces by a strong force, throwing him off his feet and sending him rolling the downward slope of the large hill. The scenery around seemed to wobble like jelly, fading into a different world before becoming normal again.

Peter flailed his arms wildly, slowing himself down before stopping completely. He wheezed, gripping his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked around, trying to find something – anything – that could have attacked him.

He looked up at the house, seeing that the entire front half was demolished. The house caved in on itself, large items and ornaments inside letting out a cacophony of shrieks and wails.

Peter had no idea what was happening.

So he ran.

'Where are you going?' the voice yelled at him. 'Turn back! You're going to _hit_—'

Peter saw it.

'—_that_—'

He tried to move out of the way.

'—_tree_.'

Peter squeezed his eyes shut as his foot slipped under a pile of twisted roots. He yelped as he collapsed to the ground, his ankle throbbing.

Goosebumps sprung into existence when he heard the clicking behind him.

Resisting the urge to scream, Peter slowly turned his head, his breaths coming out in short bursts.

He saw nothing.

Everything around him had disappeared, and was replaced by darkness.

Peter pressed one hand to his chest and another to his mouth, stifling his loud breathing. What was happening, what was happening, what was ha—

Strands of glowing silk from above dropped all around. Peter felt them tickle his skin, and he watched as the ends latched onto his clothes, mesmerised.

But then they stung. Peter cried out, trying to rip the silk off him. But then he was upside down, dangling by the strands. He tried flailing his arms, but the silk restricted his movements.

The blood rushed into his head, making him dizzy. White stars appeared in his vision as his chest refused to move and allow oxygen into his lungs and then—

Peter was bending over the bathroom sick again, throwing up his insides down the drain. The bathroom light cast a white glow around the place, and he heard Aunt May's call from down the hall.

Yes, he was home now – the teacher made him go back home after seeing him so ill.

And right now, he was still sick.

Or feeling much better than before, he wasn't so sure.

Glancing at the mirror, he saw his haggard reflection staring back. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and the tip of his nose was slightly red. His hair was all messed up.

And, yes, there was spit dribbling down his chin.

'Peter?' May called. She popped into the bathroom, standing behind him and rubbing his back.

Peter rinsed his mouth and shut the tap off. He closed his eyes, breathing in.

'You okay?' May asked.

Peter was about to nod when he opened his eyes and stared at the sink.

Spiders.

There were hundreds of the black, crawling things. And they were just sitting there, staring up at him with their beady little eyes as if thinking, _Hey, beautiful_.

'Gah!' said Peter.

The spiders vanished.

'Oh dear, you really aren't well,' fretted May as she wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulder and dragged him out of the bathroom. 'That's it, young man, no more studying for a week, and no more of those Lego things you do with Ned—'

'Ah! May, no, it's not like—!' defended Peter, but then he was gently pushed into his own room with the door being shut behind him.

He heard May call out from the other side, 'Sleep, Peter! Just...sleep.'

Peter stood there, listening to her quietly receding footsteps. And then he slumped on his bed, rubbing his fingers. His mind reeled with the images he saw.

What did they mean? Had he actually_ been _to a strawberry field before, when he was younger? But if he had, there would have been pictures. And he didn't have any.

He looked around his room. The table on the other side of the room was covered with little gadgets and books and piles of papers, with a lamp sitting in the corner, turned off. His closet sat beside the door, and the only window was framed by blue curtains, which were drawn shut.

His eyes finally landed on the bedside table on his left. His glasses were folded up and were left on the tabletop, along with the only picture of him and his parents, which was next to a photo of him and his uncle Ben and May. They all looked so happy.

Peter sighed, rubbing his face. He didn't want May to worry this much about him. It was nothing. Maybe his body just overreacted with whatever had happened at Oscorp. That bite.

That...spider bite.

Someone knocked quietly at front door.

Peter raced out of his room, faster than he would have anticipated but fast enough to avoid May's hawk-like gaze. Because if it was those guys who always descended upon him and May asking for their money, he was honestly ready to flip them down the staircase again.

He weaved around the corner and sneaked past the entrance to the kitchen, where he heard May washing the dishes, humming loudly. Then Peter walked past the couch before quickly unlocking the door on the other side of the lounge room. 'Hello? Yes?' he called out, pulling the door open.

On the other side was a girl shouldering her bag. She had blonde hair, which was tied back, and little bronze owl earrings. She had that Californian tan like the people had in advertisements. She was wearing a jacket over a yellow shirt and jeans.

Peter blinked. Wait, how did he notice all that? He wasn't wearing his glasses...

She looked at him with her grey eyes. 'Hello,' the girl said.

Peter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again, clearing his throat before saying, 'Um, hi.'

The girl looked funnily at him, gripping the suitcase that was sitting beside her feet. 'So, uh, can you please tell me where apartment, uh...' She looked down at a little card in her hand.

Peter glanced at it. All the words were jumbled and written in gibberish with little swirls and boxed letters. Hang on, that was Greek. Was she Greek? Maybe she could speak English and could only read and write in Greek?

Wait a minute, how could see all of _that _without his glasses?

'...do you know where apartment 716 is?' she asked.

Peter had to mentally pull himself together to understand what the girl asked for. 'It's the one directly above mine,' Peter said, pulling his door a little wider. He pointed at the brass number plate on his door, which read _616_. 'Each floor has a hundred apartments, so you'll find your place on the floor upstairs.'

The girl seemed to mentally smack herself in the face. She chuckled dryly. 'Hah-hah. Right. That makes so much sense.' She sighed, and she muttered to herself, 'I'm so dumb that I even surprise myself sometimes.'

Peter looked down at his feet, pretending to not have heard her last sentence. 'Um, yeah. You're new here, aren't you?'

'Yeah, I am. Me and my family decided to move here because my bo– um, some other family live nearby. Upper East Side? Yeah, there.'

Peter nodded. 'Well, hope you have a good reunion,' he said, stepping back from the door.

'Thank you,' the girl said flashing a quick smile. Then she shouldered her bag again, and a stone-cold look entered her eyes, and she turned away, walking towards the staircase.

Peter stood by the door, leaning out a little to watch her disappear behind a corner.

Then he quickly (and quietly) shut the door, then leapt (quietly) back to his room and (quietly) closed his door. That was when he finally let out a sigh.

So, he had a new neighbour. Okay. Judging by her confident posture, she seemed like the smart type. Neat, organised, probably bossy at times. There was probably a lot more to her, but Peter couldn't help feeling that there was something familiar about her.

God, how was he _noticing_ these things _without_ his glasses?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! Stay tuned for the next part!!!


	3. 0•2 || Keep Prodding Me and I’m Going to Lose It

> **0•2 || Keep Prodding Me and I'm Going to Lose It**

For the first time in her life, Annabeth was overcome with the urge to kill quiet people.

Like, really frustratingly quiet people who somehow managed to get on her nerves.

It had only been two weeks since she temporarily moved into Queens (so that she could _definitely_ get to Camp Half-Blood faster, oh so definitely) and she wanted to make sure Percy was alright in that new school of his. Goode, was it? Probably, she could care less about his antics, now that Clarisse walked in with some pretty heavy issues.

Annabeth sighed, watching as the students from Goode High School either begrudgingly or excitedly climbed into the bright yellow buses lined outside the school, chatting noisily and throwing their hands up in the air. She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Percy’s signature black hair (and maybe his eyes, but hush, internal voice).

Nevertheless, the moment he walked out of the stone archway, Annabeth slipped on a cap (not her Yankees one, which was safely tucked away in the backpack that nestled on her back) and pushed her way into the crowd.

She figured that maybe getting in touch with Percy while his grade went on a field trip to that other school in Midtown would be a somewhat easier method than waiting for him until school ended (yes, Annabeth Chase, the girl who was slowly becoming an academic rebel). Besides, Chiron had asked for Percy to come visit Camp for a bit before anything _funny_ happened.

Read: monsters conveniently attacking Percy on field trips while world-ending dangers loomed around the corner.

Annabeth slipped into the gaps left by people who ambled slowly and pressed herself next to Percy, their shoulders touching.

The sudden contact made Percy Jackson whirl his head around at Annabeth in surprise, his green eyes widening and his eyebrows nearly disappearing behind his messy black hair. ‘Annabeth?’ he whispered.

‘Yeah, it’s me, Seaweed Brain,’ Annabeth retorted, pulling her cap a little lower over her face.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Tagging along.’

‘…who are you and what have you done with Annabeth?’

Annabeth flashed him a sour smile as the two crawled into the small doors of the bus, trying to find a suitable seat where teachers would be less likely to pester them. She liked the fact that they didn’t have to openly voice their thoughts. It made her think that Percy wasn’t so much of an idiot as she had thought nearly three years ago.

Wow, hard to believe that that drooling kid was the guy sitting next to her.

‘Listen, Percy, I’m only here because Chiron told me to get you,’ Annabeth mumbled, casting a meaningful look at him. ‘He knows what you do during school – well, _sometimes_,’ she added after seeing Percy throw her a very alarmed look. ‘And he said that maybe today shouldn’t be the day you die because you were caught off-guard going on an excursion.’

Percy frowned, slipping a hand into the pocket of his jeans where I had no doubt his pen, Anaklusmos, was inside. ‘Bold words coming from you, considering you got snatched off a cliff,’ Percy said snarkily.

Annabeth glared at him with a steely expression. She inwardly let her pride shine when she saw Percy avert his gaze and look out the window, no doubt still unsettled by her _Shut up_ look.

A few minutes later, after the teachers had completed a head count (they really just called out names without waiting for a response), the bus lurched forward, pulling out of the bus bay and onto the busy streets.

Annabeth watched Percy eye a few cars driving alongside the bus, her gaze scanning his form before her eyes landed on the grey streak in his hair. A result of their struggle last winter.

She couldn’t keep the sour taste out of her mouth when she remembered Luke staring at her before he toppled backwards on Mount Othyrus. His pale face haunted her.

_Maybe…maybe it would be best if he was left in that chasm_, she thought.

Annabeth’s insides recoiled at such a repulsive idea, but what could she do? She loved Luke…like a brother. She _really_ loved him. It would make sense for that wound from his betrayal inside her to bleed slowly when she saw his motionless form jutting out from the darkness.

But the thing was, no matter how hard she tried to shut out any of those memories of her and Luke and Thalia, running around the place when they were younger, the only thought that surfaced from that swirling mess was:

_Luke’s not dead._

She shivered.

Percy, who had been oblivious to her whirling thoughts, suddenly asked, ‘How do I know you’re not here just because we’re going to Midtown?’

Raising an eyebrow, Annabeth gave him a curious look. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I read that Midtown High was this school for, like, smart people. Architectures and science and all that jazz. Is that why you wanted to “tag along”?’ Percy elaborated, making quotation marks in the air at the last two words.

To be honest, Annabeth had never really cared that much about Midtown. Sure, she would occasionally glance at the wonderfully crafted white columns at the front, or marvel at the pristine bell tower that held bells no more, but no, she wasn’t “into” the school.

Annabeth’s silence must have quelled some of Percy’s thoughts, but there was a glint in his eyes as if he suddenly realised something and he was trying his damn hardest to not burst at the seams.

But Annabeth, observant as ever, saw his shift in attitude, and she inwardly smiled.

‘Annabeth, _please_, I know technology is bad for us—’

‘Why do you think I’m trying to not trash the place, Percy? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to a tech exhibit?!’

‘Um, because you…like…inventions?’

Annabeth was ready to burn the school down. ‘This whole place is a _beacon_ for monsters!’ she hissed at Percy, waving her hands around the place.

She had never been so agitated once she heard that Midtown was a _technology school_.

Even without her advanced intellect, Annabeth could figure out that a demigod being in an environment filled with tech was about as safe as being inside a cage with a tiger.

‘But Annabeth, listen, you’ll like this!’ Percy held out his arms, gesturing to the open door leading to Midtown School of Science and Technology’s gymnasium, where an awfully large amount of students had gathered. ‘Please.’

Percy had a somewhat placating expression on his face as he tried to calm Annabeth down, but no, Annabeth would _not_ calm down. She was not going to touch any of the things inside, and she was going to stomp out of there, even if it meant dragging Percy by the ear because hell, she was not willing to become—

Percy shoved her past the open doors, and Annabeth’s anxiety suddenly melted. She tilted her upward and took off her cap, letting her blonde curls fall around her head, and she let out a small, ‘Woah.’

The gymnasium was much larger than she expected it would be, even with the dozen rows of bleachers pushed into one side of the area. The large lamps that dangled overhead swayed rhythmically to the slight breeze from the open doors. Large, colourful posters and banners were hung on the walls, filling the room with such vibrancy that Annabeth thought it would ruin her eyes.

But the one thing that caught her attention was the centre of the gym. There were rows upon rows of tables, a small group of students standing behind each one. The tables held up an item for display. Some were large, some were small, others were large cardboard sheets that held up images and strings and writing. Some looked like they were hammered out from metal, and others looked as if they were crafted out from the most unlikely of materials but still made the final result look visually pleasing.

Annabeth took back all those deprecating thoughts about Midtown.

She let out a relieved laugh, tugging on Percy’s hand. ‘Wow,’ she said, turning her head this way and that, trying to get a glimpse of all the inventions and models that rested on the tables, no doubt made by the _students themselves! Crazy!_

‘I told you you’d like it,’ Percy said with a grin, crossing his arms over his dark blue hoodie.

‘Shut up, Seaweed Brain,’ she snapped, but she made sure her voice held no anger towards him. Instead she dragged him (by the hand, not by the ear. Annabeth Chase, you’ve already failed your mission) to one of the closest items, a small replica of a…wow, was it actually—

‘Is that a chromium-coated dowel with a rotating commutator and…a speaker magnet?’

The girl who sat behind the table looked up with a bored glance, a thick book opened in her hands. She wore jeans and a black shirt, which was partially hidden by a dark denim jacket. Her skin was the shade of pale cocoa, and her curly black hair was swept to one side of her face. Her dark eyes scanned Annabeth up and down with a familiar, calculating look.

‘A scrappy electric motor,’ the girl said in a monotone. ‘Yeah, I guess you can say that. But if you’re still interested, ask the ray of sunshine over there who made it.’ She jerked her head to the chubby guy next to her, who was waving his hands all over the place as he rambled to someone next to him.

The other person next to Ray of Sunshine had brown hair that looked _painstakingly_ familiar, but Annabeth shrugged it off at the end.

‘That is _so cool_,’ Annabeth said, running a hand over the sleek bars that held the motor together. ‘How much electricity does it generate? Judging by the length of the coils, and the size of the magnet—’ she waved her hand over the coal-black doughnut-shaped metal at the bottom of the motor ‘—I’m guessing maybe about 1000 volts a minute? Wow, _amazing_, considering it’s “scrappy”.’

The girl stared at her with a guarded expression, but Annabeth could see in her eyes the confusion and somewhat smug curiosity. Annabeth could also sense Percy standing closer to her, with a confused but amused _Oh, you’re a nerd now_ look on his face.

‘Yeah,’ the girl said slowly. ‘Pretty neat to know that someone in Goode knows their tech.’

‘Oh.’ Annabeth glanced at Percy, then hesitantly said, ‘I’m not from Goode. I’m just…touring.’

The girl squinted and raised an eyebrow that disappeared behind her fringe of black curls. ‘You should join, you know,’ she finally said after a while. ‘You’d be a great craftswoman.’

‘Oh, um, thanks, but I don’t think I’m qualified.’ Annabeth looked at Percy, who shrugged once the girl went back to her book, and they slowly stepped back and continued shuffling through the hall.

‘Well, _that_ was a weird exchange,’ Percy admitted when they believed they were out of earshot of the girl.

‘She seems pretty distant,’ noted Annabeth. ‘As if she was concentrating on more than one thing and someone managing to do them all at the same time.’

‘Gee, that sounds like someone I know.’

Annabeth elbowed Percy in the side, but it wasn’t as hard as she would have normally done it. Her eyes flickered around the gymnasium, each time landing on a gadget or invention or diagram. The whole place seemed so…fascinating.

To think that she wanted to run out of here not even five minutes ago made her chuckle slightly.

‘If you _weren’t_ a demigod, would you go here?’ Percy asked suddenly.

Annabeth looked directly into his green eyes. He was just a little under her height, but she knew he would be well taller than her in the next summer or so.

Next summer…that would mean the Great Prophecy would be over by then.

Gods, life was weird and downright confusing.

She shrugged in response to Percy’s question, running a hand over a nearby table. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. If I did, I might probably invent a new technique that could revolutionise the way we construct buildings.’

‘Yes, of course, Madam Architect.’

Annabeth felt a smile pull at her lips when a Japanese man strolled up and stood at the centre of the stage, a microphone in his hand. His black hair was combed over his head, and he wore a matching black blazer and pants and a white shirt underneath.

The man held up the microphone to his mouth and called out, ‘Hello, and good morning, fellow students!’

The gymnasium fell silent as the man continued speaking.

‘I am Mr. Morita, principal of Midtown School of Science and Technology,’ the man called Mr. Morita said. Raising a hand and gesturing around the gym, he said, ‘As you students of Goode High School know, you are here because our schools have decided to collaborate in a project managed by the Education Department. And, might I add, we are very excited for this to be happening!’

A few students from Goode nodded their heads, while some had indifferent expressions. But that didn’t faze Mr. Morita in the slightest. The principal kept rambling, and students had begun to fidget nervously; some people had already started to wander off.

_Now’s our chance_, Annabeth thought. She gently tugged Percy’s hand.

When he looked at her, she motioned her head for the door and mouthed, _We need to go_.

Percy had a somewhat disappointed look, forming an _O_ with his mouth. As if he actually enjoyed being in a world that seemed way too much for him but was normal either way.

Well, normal in the sense where it didn’t require any monsters or demons chasing them.

Annabeth felt a pang of empathy for Percy, but she kept her expression neutral as they both inched their way to the back of the group.

‘…and have fun. Any volunteers?’

Suddenly someone pressed themselves behind Annabeth’s back, forcing her to quickly stop. Someone gripped her hand and threw it up into the air – the only hand above a sea of bored heads.

Annabeth’s eyes widened as she turned to face…the girl who listened to her geek about the electric motor?

Honestly, she would have settled for a monster at this point.

‘What are you doing?’ Annabeth hissed at her.

‘What’s going on?’ whispered Percy.

‘I see we have a volunteer!’ Mr. Morita called out from up the front. Everyone turned to face the back, their eyes locking onto Annabeth. Her ADHD made sure she saw every face staring at her.

Heat rose up on Annabeth’s face as she wrenched her hand out of the girl’s grip and let it flop back down to her side. She glared at the girl next to her, who had her nose buried in the same book, eying her with a nonchalant expression.

‘Would you like to step forward, miss?’ Mr. Morita asked.

Annabeth was quick to answer. She started, ‘No, sir, I didn’t mean—’

Gods, _damn_ that girl. She shoved Annabeth forward with her left hand. Annabeth stumbled forward, listening to Percy’s surprised hissing.

And that was it.

The damage was done.

The people around her cleared a path towards a beaming Mr. Morita, who gestured her to hurry up. Annabeth could still hear Percy’s whispering as she stepped forward because…well, she really didn’t have a choice, did she?

She was at Mr. Morita’s side a lot sooner than she would have liked. Her mind whirled, trying to remember whatever the principal had been talking about before she was unwillingly sacrificed to participate in something that probably resembled the Hunger Games.

Mr. Morita was still smiling when he called out, ‘Anyone else? This isn’t called a competition of the wits for nothing.’

Within the dwindling number of Goode High students still lingering, a hand shot up, and a few people cheered, calling out, ‘Go, Kyle!’ and ‘Step the eff up, Kyle!’ Annabeth watched as a thin, wiry kid with curly black hair walked up to Mr. Morita, pushing large, thick glasses up his nose.

Kyle gave Annabeth a toothy sneer. Annabeth glared back.

Mr. Morita placed a hand on each of their shoulders, jolting them forward a few millimetres. ‘Now, since we have our contestants, I suppose it’ll be better to start—’

‘What are we doing?’

Mr. Morita looked at Annabeth. She tried to keep a cool expression, but she let her question seep through her eyes, trying to ask the principal silently while trying to not make herself look disturbed and unsure of her environment.

Thankfully, the Mr. Morita picked up on her slight discomfort, and he pulled the microphone away from his mouth. ‘It’s a trivia of sorts,’ the principal said, both to her and Kyle. ‘Random topics. All you have to do is just answer them until the other person can’t answer anymore.’

‘Oh.’ So it _was_ the Hunger Games. Great.

Mr. Morita brought the microphone back to his mouth before saying, ‘Let the Midtown High trivia quiz begin!’ He cleared his throat, and he asked, ‘What is the capital of Bulgaria?’

‘Sofia,’ Annabeth and Kyle immediately said together.

‘How do you calculate density?’

‘Mass divided by volume,’ they said again simultaneously. Annabeth could feel Kyle glowering at her, and her eyes immediately flickering towards Percy at the back.

Percy gave her an encouraging thumbs up, the girl next to him smiling slightly.

Wait.

She was _smiling_ now?

_Oh_, wait until Annabeth get’s her hands on that girl’s neck so she can strangle her for such miseries—

‘Who was the first artist to enter the US album chart at No 1?’

‘Elton John,’ said Kyle and Annabeth.

And on, and on, and on. Mr. Morita rattled questions right off his head (Annabeth wondered just how much information the guy had in his noggin) while Annabeth and Kyle spouted out answers revolving around science and literature and governments and giant towers like overly smart parakeets. They both answered at the same time, and Annabeth was desperate to win just so that she could kick the girl’s behind.

But then _that_ question came.

‘Zero-point-nine-nine-nine repeat is equivalent to one. True or false?’

Kyle opened his mouth, and he froze, as if he suddenly realised that this was not part of the curriculum.

But Annabeth was never one to follow the curriculum – heck, she was the one who made it really hard for others in the first place. (Sorry, everyone).

‘True,’ she said instantly, inwardly smug at the fact that Kyle spluttered out some incoherent answer.

The small group of students who gathered around let out claps of congratulations. Kyle bit his lip as he stepped away, allowing a grinning Percy surge forward from the back and give Annabeth a high five. At the back of the group, the girl smirked before walking off.

Annabeth was fuming. What was that girl’s problem? Did she just want to see how smart she was after seeing her babble about some scrappy electric motor? _Who was she?_

‘Hey, you did great!’ Percy’s voice snapped Annabeth back to reality. She sighed, her shoulders slumping, watching as the group surrounding them finally dispersed.

‘Yeah, well, duh,’ she replied quickly. ‘Who was that girl, anyway?’

Percy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. ‘I asked, but she said that she was my worst nightmare. I doubt that, since my only nightmare is seeing you mad at me.’

_Look at that_, a small voice in Annabeth’s mind whispered. _He’s already keeling all over you_.

_Shut up_, Annabeth thought.

‘Excuse me, miss…?’

It was Mr. Morita again. He walked up to the two of them, turning off the microphone and tucking it away into his pocket. He cleared his throat.

‘Oh, um, Chase. Annabeth Chase.’

‘Well, Miss Chase, I am indeed impressed by your knowledge and quick-thinking. Someone like you can definitely go far no matter what occupation you choose to pursue.’

Annabeth felt her insides flutter with pride at that.

‘Are you visiting, Miss Chase?’

She blinked, suddenly caught off-guard. ‘I…what?’

‘I can tell that you aren’t a Goode High School student,’ said Mr. Morita, raising his eyebrow. His black eyes glittered. ‘I know you are just tagging along.’

From beside her, Percy tilted his head downward and shuffled his feet. Annabeth felt heat tickle her cheeks, but she kept a straight face. What _was_ going to happen, anyway? Get a bad grade or something? Heck, she hadn’t even been to school for _months_ now.

‘And that is why I’d like to make you an offer,’ Mr. Morita said. ‘You have the wit, the knowledge, and the passion of the students I see here every day. I’d like to invite you to attend Midtown School of Science and Technology. Personally invite you, that is.’

Annabeth was left standing in stunned silence. Mr. Morita’s words took surprisingly forever to slip into her ears and into her brain. And when she finally registered the words, she let out a shocked, ‘Oh—um—uh, wha?’

_Smooth, Annabeth_, she berated herself. _Now he’s going to take back his offer and leave_.

Wait, had she already answered the principal’s question? No, he was still standing, waiting.

Annabeth cleared her throat, trying to ease the sudden awkwardness between them. ‘Um, can I have a moment?’ she asked.

‘Certainly, of course,’ Mr. Morita said. He stepped back, and Annabeth turned around and pulled Percy closer until their shoulders almost touched.

‘Should I?’ asked Annabeth.

‘Annabeth, you _have _to go,’ Percy said immediately, eyes wide. ‘This place is, like, a superhero base for geniuses! You could do so much, achieve your dreams, get a job…um…’ Percy faltered for a moment, his face turning a little red. Annabeth sniffed, prompting him to continue, but her mind still lingered on the prospect that Percy cared _a lot_ about her.

‘…besides, this place is pretty close to camp,’ Percy finished. He tucked a hand into his pocket. ‘So, in short, you want my opinion on coming here? Hands down, you should go.’

Annabeth worried her lip, running her teeth across her bottom lip. The offer sounded…great, actually. And everything Percy had said made (gods forbid, she was going to say this only once) absolute sense. She could have a greater chance at getting a job, _and_ she could help out with camp, and everything in between.

It sounded wonderful, but Annabeth knew everything in life had to be taken with a grain of salt.

She turned back to Mr. Morita. ‘Sir, I thank you for the offer,’ she said, ‘and I’d like to accept it.’

Mr. Morita smiled, but Annabeth held up a hand. ‘But I won’t be staying here for long. I have to go back to my home after some family business blows over.’

From the corner of her eye, she saw Percy’s shoulders slump forward, almost imperceptibly. But she noticed anyway.

Mr. Morita nodded at Annabeth’s condition, then reached into his pocket and handed Annabeth a crisp white sheet of paper with writing on it. ‘Here’s an application form. I know it asks for a monthly fee for school equipment and resources, but I can allow you to pay only half of the required costs. Think of it as a, ah, token of appreciation for joining.’

Annabeth tried to skim through the application form (well, as best as she could, even when her dyslexia reduced the text to mumbo-jumbo) then folded it and slid it into the pocket of her shorts. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Mr. Morita bowed his head in acknowledgement before turning around briskly and walking away. Percy turned to Annabeth, a huge smile on his face, and she couldn’t help but feel bubbly too.

She was _actually _coming _here_. A school for _geniuses_, people like _her_.

Boy, would the other Athena kids be jealous of her right now.

She let out a slight chuckle, most of Percy’s praises flying over her head when suddenly a had tapped her on the shoulder.

This time, however, Annabeth was ready. Her hand shot out and grabbed the person’s wrist, and she twisted it around, bringing the person forward with a quiet yelp. A book landed on the ground with muffled _fwump_.

It was the girl.

‘You again?’ asked Annabeth, letting go of her. ‘What is your _problem_?’

The girl sniffed in response, bending down to pick her book off the floor. ‘Gee, didn’t know you Californians had such uptight personalities when it comes to “thank you”s.’

Annabeth was ready to charge her when Percy held her back. ‘Okay, listen, um, whoever you are—’

The girl frowned. ‘Michelle Jones,’ she said stiffly.

‘Oh, _now_ you give us your name,’ Percy mumbled. ‘Um, yeah, Michelle, why are you harassing my friend here? And why are you so cryptic? You’d think that being mysterious wouldn’t get you any introductions.’

Michelle raised an eyebrow at Percy, before her dark eyes slid over to Annabeth. ‘I saw potential in you,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘I just thought maybe you’d appreciate being in a place with people whose minds can run as fast as yours.’

_But I already have people whose minds can run as fast as mine_, Annabeth thought. _They’re my half-siblings_.

But then again, all they did at camp was create new ways to not die at the claws of monsters.

Here, maybe Annabeth could use her smarts for something better. Something that could change the world.

Still glaring at Michelle, Annabeth held out a hand. ‘Annabeth Chase,’ she said, voice unwavering.

Michelle eyed the outstretched hand for a moment, then took it. ‘Nice meeting you on this pleasant Thursday,’ she replied curtly.

Annabeth watched as Michelle sauntered away, book in hand, calling out to two other people who just shrugged and sidled up to her before disappearing from view.

Percy shuffled nervously beside her. ‘Well, then. You, uh, wanna hang out after school, then?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timelines and canon stuff can go die, I'm literally sticking my limbs out everywhere and trying to hope that the story can actually go on consistently hahahhh. Hope you're enjoying it though :)


	4. 0•3 || Being a Buddy Just Gave Me Anxiety

> **0•3 || Being a Buddy Just Gave Me Anxiety**

'...and _oh my god_, did you see how Jyn nearly fell off the tower at Scarif? Oh my god, that scared me for, like, a millisecond.'

'Ned, I told you, I haven't watched _Rogue One_ yet. You're spoiling it for me.'

'Oh, sorry! I'm so sorry,' Ned apologised frantically, gripping Peter's hands in his. 'It's just...she's so _badass_.'

'Okay, Ned! Jeez! Shh!' Peter hushed, trying to get Ned to zip his mouth before anymore secrets gushed out. 'Please, give me at least a month's time – I would have _definitely_ watched the movie by then. Promise.'

Ned's face scrunched up a little in mock apprehension, but he shrugged it off and fell silent beside Peter.

Peter could tell Ned was apprehensive about a _lot_ of things. Like the fact that Peter had stopped wearing his glasses for the past month. He'd tried to explain to him (and May, for that matter) that the glasses were giving him headaches and that he could see even better without them.

It was like Peter was suddenly supercharged, all of his senses dialled up to eleven. Even that slight constriction in his chest whenever he ran had disappeared.

Peter and Ned shouldered their bags and slipped in through the entrance of Midtown, squeezing between the ever-crowded hallways. Light filtered through the windows set high above them, casting silver beams everywhere.

'So, what do you have today?' asked Ned as they neared their lockers.

Peter sidled up to his locker, the one that had a rusty _1610_ plaque on it, and rotated the combination lock on the blue metal to unlock it. It popped open, and Peter immediately shoved his books into the small space.

'I, uh, I think I have Chemistry first period,' Peter said, squinting at the fortnightly timetable that was plastered on the inside of the door. 'Then History. Did I mention how much I hate History?'

'As many times as the amount of "_A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away_"s I've seen in my life,' Ned said, grinning. 'Which is to say, millions.'

Once Peter was done gathering his things, they shuffled over to Ned's locker a few rows away. They were silent for a bit, and Peter was left alone with his thoughts.

Peter crossed his arms and pressed the heel of his right palm into his eyes, trying to wrap his mind in the somewhat comforting darkness. He liked this darkness – it helped him focus, one thing at a time, helped ease the sudden flashes that popped into existence behind his eyelids and that _BANG_ the reverberated in his ears.

It tried to drown out the last whispers from a dying man.

It tried to help ease his guilt.

But guilt was more darker than darkness itself, and it only grew.

'...Peter? You okay, dude?' came Ned's muffled but worried voice.

'Hmm?' asked Peter. He removed his hand from his face, feeling his pupils trying to implode and the sudden brightness. 'Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine. You ready?'

Ned frowned.

He was never going to stop being apprehensive unless Peter figured out a way to stop the darkness from crawling into Peter's daily life. It was _seriously_ starting to take a toll on him.

Peter opened his mouth only for the back of his head begin to throb dully.

'_Hey, come on, turn around—_'

A frown tugged at Peter's lips as he rubbed his head and turned around, only for someone to promptly collide into him.

They yelped – Ned yelping even louder from behind – as Peter reflexively shot his hand out and slammed it against the lockers with a loud _CLANG_ to try to steady himself.

'Gods,' the person cursed as she tried to push herself off of Peter.

Peter looked up, and he saw the girl from a couple of weeks ago, the one who moved into his apartment block and asked where her apartment was. Blondie, he had resorted to calling her, as he hadn't gotten her name after their first encounter.

'Oh, hi,' Peter found himself saying stupidly.

Blondie looked at him, grey eyes widening in recognition, then immediately scrambled back, muttering, 'Oh, sorry, let me just get off you...'

Once they had untangled themselves, Peter brushed a strand of his brown hair out of his face, straightened his sweater and eyed the girl. Unlike her bright first appearance, she was dressed in a light blue shirt and slim navy pants, a grey-cream bag resting on her shoulders.

'What are you doing here?' asked Peter.

Blondie was about to answer when Ned gasped. 'You guys have met before?' he demanded, whirling on Peter, his black hair whipping around.

'We didn't _meet_, just so happened to bump into each other,' the girl replied coldly. She scrutinised – freaking _scrutinised_ – Peter's figure before she muttered, 'Literally, too.'

Peter was spluttering – she had so swiftly roasted him and it stung, but he would _never_ admit that – when a low voice drawled out, 'So, I see you losers have found the new girl.'

Behind Blondie was a familiar face – Michelle Jones, the class outcast. Well, outcast in _Peter's_ opinion, because she was so..._withdrawn_, he guessed.

Michelle slid her curly dark hair behind her ear to make her light cocoa-brown face visible. 'What's up, dorks?' she asked.

Ned cried out, 'How come everyone knows her except me?!'

Peter tried explaining that they weren't intentionally making Ned miss out on stuff, but Michelle beat him to it. 'Relax, loser. I saw her at the Midtown Technology Display Day a couple of weeks back. She was the one who won the trivia quiz.'

The girl rolled her eyes. 'A quiz that you _forced _me to do.'

Michelle gave her a smug but taut smile. She glanced at Ned and Peter. 'She had potential. She needed to come here. So I made her.'

A red tint throbbed softly against Blondie's tan cheeks as she looked away.

'And she was freaking out over your scrappy electric motor, Ned.'

Ned scowled at Michelle. 'It's not _scrappy_. Besides, you were the one who wanted to stick with us when nobody wanted to go with you – sorry,' he huffed, looking down sheepishly at his own surprisingly harsh words. Then his eyes lit up, and he looked at Blondie. 'You liked my motor?'

The girl smiled and held out a hand. 'Annabeth Chase,' the girl, _Annabeth_, said.

She shook Ned's hand, who shook back with a grateful shake. Then Peter shook her hand, his grasp tight. When he tried to pull back, he registered the hesitation in his skin.

Wait, can skin hesitate? He wasn't sure.

But nevertheless, he could feel his hand detaching from Annabeth's milliseconds after he made his conscious decision.

Like it was stuck to her, or something.

Oh god, was he becoming those people who had excessively sweaty and clammy hands?

That itself was a nightmare.

Annabeth didn't seem to notice his inner turmoil and instead focused on Michelle. 'So, are you supposed to be my, what, buddy? Show me around the school?'

Michelle shrugged, pulling her jacket tighter around her. 'I guess. After all, there are new kids popping in every month or so, so everyone knows the basics on what to do.' She sniffed. 'Principal Morita just so happened to pick me because I was the one who had last contact with you.'

'Oh, how kind of you,' Annabeth said through gritted teeth, although there wasn't as much heat in her tone as Peter had expected. 'Will you ever so kindly tell me where the Chemistry classes are?'

Peter's head perked up. 'Oh, you have Chem, too?' he asked. When Annabeth nodded, he said, 'So do I, and I'm pretty sure Michelle does, too. We can all head over there when the bell—'

'_Peter Parker, to the front office, please_,' came the voice of Principal Morita through the crackling PA system. The corridors went silent as everyone snapped their heads to the speakers nestled in the high corners of the ceiling, then swivelled around to find Peter. '_Peter Parker, to the front office, thank you_.'

Peter's shoulders slumped on their own accord. Well, that was great. Hopefully he wasn't in trouble for suddenly having his grades slipping towards hell.

Ned squeezed Peter's arm. 'It's okay, dude. I'll wait outside if you want—'

'No, no, you'll get in trouble,' Peter said, shaking his head slightly. 'You guys just go on, I'll see if I can make it back to you before second period, if whatever Principal Morita wants to say to me goes for that long.' He turned to Michelle with a straight face. 'Michelle, please give me any of your notes that I might miss out on when I get back.'

Michelle frowned at him, saying, 'Sorry, loser, but you're going to have a hard time duplicating my originality.'

Which Peter interpreted as, _Oh, of course I'll give you my notes, sarcasm sarcasm sarcasm_.

Peter found himself walking away from them, the feeling of Annabeth's eyes boring into his back clearly evident. He gripped his bag as he nimbly manoeuvred through different crowds, twisting through hallways before finding himself heading towards Principal Morita's office

The office from the outside looked pretty bland – just a small room lined with white plaster and a window, with blinds on the inside to prevent people from looking through. Posters hung off the walls and the blue door, and the brass doorknob glittered. On the other side was a small dark corridor that led down to the school's medical wing.

The school bell rang with a sharp trill, and students shuffled around and bumped into Peter. He raised his hands and pressed them against his chest as he tried to squish through the agonising rush of the students hurriedly making their way to their classrooms. Luckily for him, he was surprised to see his feet being much sturdier than usual, since he hadn't toppled over from the sheer force of the students barrelling into him.

Once he got to Principal Morita's office's door, he placed his hand on the cool doorknob.

As soon as he did that, though, Peter froze.

Goosebumps bristled all over him, the hairs lining his arms and the back of his neck suddenly pressing themselves against his clothes. He heard every footstep thundering against the hard floor or whispering on the soft grass. Heard every click of correctly inputted digits in the combination locks, the buzzing of the electricity running through wires in the walls. Heard the way his heart beat loudly in his eardrums.

_THOOM_, went his heart.

He smelled sweat, and perfume, and cologne, and flowers, and dust, and something even ancient than time itself.

_THOOM_—

He saw every blemish on the painted doorframe in front of him, and the scratches on the doorknob, and the smudges on the window, and those stupid bleeding holes in his hand where the spider had mercilessly torn its fangs into his skin.

_THOOM_..._THOOM_—

Where the spider bite had made him freeze up and lock into place like a fly caught in the silk of the horrifying creature.

_THOOM, THOOM, THOOM—_

And what made Peter feel sick was that something beyond that door was there _specifically _for him, waiting and brandishing its claws and staring down at him, ready to devour him whole and—

Principal Morita opened the door.

A strangled scream curled around Peter's voice box as he tried to clear his throat, waving slightly at the principal. The man had wrinkles around his thin eyes, and his crisp black suit sat snug around his form.

'Hello, sir,' Peter said hoarsely, surprising himself at his suddenly guttural voice.

Principal Morita frowned. 'Are you alright, Peter?'

'I'm fine, thank you very much, sir.'

Peter could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, but he wasn't willing to let Morita know what's gotten him so agitated.

In fact, he didn't even _know_ what made him agitated in the first place.

'Well, if you say so, Mr Parker. Come in, come in.' Principal Morita opened the door a little wider and gestured for Peter to enter.

Peter did, sidling in between Principal Morita and the door before popping inside the office.

It was much neater compared to the outside. A mahogany table sat in the middle of the room, lined with pencils and pens and other workplace utensils. A laptop sat open on the desk, a black chair behind the table. A black shelf was pressed against the far wall with books and files. A small pot plant sat on top, along with a couple of photos of what everyone knew to be Principal Morita's grandfather, who went way back in the '40s or something. His grandfather's medals were on display inside a small item frame, the gold metal of the badges glinting.

Principal Morita sunk into his chair and faced the two blue chairs the were placed opposite to him, and he motioned for Peter to sit on the one on the left.

Peter did as he was told, his eyes sliding to the other boy sitting in the chair to the right.

The boy looked a little bigger than Peter was, with thin, orange hair and beady black eyes. He looked at Peter, and gave him a grin, his crooked teeth gleaming slightly yellow. He wore a tight red shirt and jeans, both of which seemed to outline every muscle and tendon in an uncomfortable way. There was that smell again – something older than legend, older than time.

The hairs along the right side of Peter's body stood up in anxiety.

'Mr Parker, this is Alistair Smythe,' Principal Morita said, waving a head to the kid on Peter's right. 'He had applied earlier this semester, and we realised that not many people had Mr Smythe's subjects. Except for you, that is. So, we as the staff, figured that perhaps—'

'I should be Alistair's buddy until he grows comfortable with the place?' asked Peter.

Principal Morita smiled. 'Exactly. I hope you are okay with doing this.'

_I'm not_, a small voice in Peter's head whispered. _I'm not okay with you buddying me up with this kid. And yes, though I feel bad for his looks, I will absolutely _not _be going around with this guy making me feel sick to my core—_

'Yeah, okay, I'm fine with helping him, sir,' Peter said, smiling tightly.

_Idiot_, growled the voice.

Alistair turned and smiled hideously, as if he heard Peter's thoughts.

It only made Peter even more uneasy.

'Wonderful!' said the principal. He reached over his desk for a file and handed it to Peter. 'That has all of Alistair's academic requirements as well as his timetable. Be sure to go over the curriculum with him and show him around the school.'

'Of course, sir.'

Principal Morita smiled, turning to Alistair. 'Don't worry, Alistair, Peter here is a wonderful student. He'll immediately get you warmed up to this school. And once again—' the principal leaned forward and stretched a hand out to Alistair '—welcome to Midtown High.'

Alistair shook outstretched hand. 'Thank you so much, sir,' he said in a gruff voice.

Moments later, Peter and Alistair were standing outside once Principal Morita had shoved them out of his office. Now, they were standing in a silent corridor lined with lockers, with the faint voices of teachers bouncing off the walls.

'So,' Peter began, shuffling his feet and glancing down at Alistair's timetable. 'You have Chemistry. With me. Okay, cool.'

Alistair shrugged. 'I've never been much of a Chem guy,' he said, folding his arms. 'Too many things to remember and blow up.'

Peter looked up at Alistair, and nearly did a double take.

The centre of Alistair's forehead rippled, like something had started to burrow into his skin. It flickered, like an eyelid, but when Peter blinked, it was gone.

Shuddering, Peter pointed down the corridor and said in a small voice, 'Chemistry is down there.'

It was lunch, and by that time, Peter's insides were screaming as if they were melting.

Alistair wasn't that much of a weirdo Peter had initially thought he'd be, but there was still something unsettling about the guy and he just couldn't place his finger on it. Was it the guy's orange hair? It didn't exactly make him look like a Weasley, did it?

Peter placed his platter onto the table and slid into the seat directly opposite to Ned in the cafeteria, Alistair squeezing beside him. Peter could see Ned's sudden look of poorly-disguised surprise at the sight of Alistair. He dropped his enchilada into his platter.

Sighing, Peter said, 'Ned, this is my buddy, Alistair. He's new to the school.'

Alistair waved stupidly.

Ned waved stupidly back.

Alistair looked around, eyeing the large space and the multiple windows lined against the far cafeteria wall. He looked at all the other students. Then back at Peter. 'The place is big,' he said.

'Yeah,' Peter agreed, looking around. His eyes landed on the row of tables near the entrance of the cafeteria, where Liz Toomes and her friends sat. Her back was facing him, but he couldn't help but let his eyes trail over that nice white overcoat she wore, the bright tone contrasting with her lush black hair.

He just wanted her to turn around, just a few centimetres, so that Peter could catch a glimpse of her perfect face—

'Oh, hi again,' a voice called.

Peter, Ned and Alistair all turned their heads to the left, their eyes snapping to the two girls sitting a couple tables across. Michelle and Annabeth stared back at them, the two of them basically drowning in a sea of books that were littered on the tables around them.

Michelle raised an eyebrow at Alistair. 'He's a new kid?' she asked, voice monotone.

'Uh, yeah. Yeah, he is,' Peter replied.

Michelle gave them all an emotionless, 'Meh,' before she buried her face back into the thick book in her hands. Annabeth stared at Alistair for a little longer, her eyes narrowing.

Peter's confusion began to sizzle. Did Annabeth know this guy? Obviously, by they way she was looking at him, Annabeth must have picked on something familiar about Alistair.

Well, lucky for her, because all Peter was picking up was the sense of _dread_—

A large, red eye stared down at Peter from Alistair's face. Unblinking. Unmoving. Focused.

On _him_.

'Aack!' Peter gagged, shoving his fist up his mouth to muffle the sound. His ears rang, a high pitch squeal shrieking in his ear canals. His gut tried to squeeze through his throat. His head throbbed, as if he had been smacked in the face with a dodgeball thrown by Flash.

Michelle and Annabeth glanced at him. Alistair blinked in confusion, black eyes glittering. Ned's eyes suddenly narrowed in concern. 'Peter? Peter, are you okay?' Ned asked softly.

_People have been asking me that a lot, lately_.

'I've been better,' Peter said, then he realised his words just confirmed Ned's suspicions.

He hurriedly stood up, muttered a quick, 'Need the bathroom, be right back,' before he stumbled out of the cafeteria, four pairs of eyes burning into his back as his head continued to pound like no tomorrow.

Peter pressed his hands to his temples, pressing down on them to try and equal the pressure pulsing inside his head. Tried to make the screaming voices in his mind quieten down.

He staggered into the bathroom, closed his eyes and pressed his face against the cool, tiled wall. Spikes of cold ripped through Peter's flesh, but it was soothing, numbing the pain.

Something was wrong. He knew that now. Something was _definitely _wrong, judging by the way his body constantly reacted to simple things, but he didn't know what it was.

Groaning, Peter opened his eyes and stared at the reflection in the mirror.

All it showed was a scared, little boy, depressed and alone, who couldn't even wipe away the blood on his hands from his imagination. A boy who screamed at the night, trying to call on something, _anything_, that could stop the man he knew all his life from bleeding out on the cold, dry concrete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS MY YEARLY EXAMS ARE OVER, I CAN FINALLY BREATHE WITHOUT HAVING ANY METAPHORICAL WEIGHT CRUSHING DOWN ON MEEEEEE. Also, expect some more updates in the next few weeks, I've discovered I'm impatient on finishing Volume 0, lol XD


	5. 0•4 || Bathroom Meetings are the Worst

> **0•4 || Bathroom Meetings are the Worst**

Annabeth wanted to be frank: she despised Alistair's very existence. The giant, lumbering kid made her first week at Midtown horrific. Even Peter Parker seemed to be drained just by simply being near him.

Not to mention that Alistair had that familiar, odd aura about him. The kind that always lingered in the air even when its source had already gone.

Annabeth was sitting in Geography, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets as the droning of the teacher was drowned out by the incessant whispers of Alistair sitting on her left. He had a notebook open, but the pages were blank, and his pen lay on top, the ink drying. A horrid stench wafted from Alistair's mouth, but Annabeth tried her hardest to not tell him that he could scare off every vampire in a three-thousand mile radius.

While Alistair kept yabbering quietly, Annabeth felt someone on her right shift. She opened her right eye and glanced at Peter next to her, his face white as he stared at the teacher, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

Peter caught Annabeth staring at him. His blue flannel shirt crinkled as he shifted his position again, pressing his hands onto his jeans to stop their shaking. His brown eyes were slightly glazed over, and he gave her a tight smile that said, _Can you help me kill myself?_

Annabeth returned the gesture by giving him the look that said, _Sure, I'll set up your obituary_.

In the week they had been sharing class together, Annabeth found Peter an...interesting case. It was a fact well known by everyone at Camp that Annabeth never made any friends other than the demigods. She usually kept to herself and avoided having interactions with others, and she just didn't stay in the same place for long.

But Peter was an exception, she'll give him that. Peter and his friend Ned, and her own buddy Michelle. They were all exceptions, because, well, it was nice to have someone else other than her demigod half-siblings to be able to keep up with her racing mind.

The teacher was pointing at an example of a topographic map when Alistair muttered, 'Hey, why are there squiggles all over the map? Don't maps just have tiny little symbols to show where things are?'

'Yes, maps _do _have tiny little symbols to show where things are,' Annabeth hissed at him, rolling her eyes at the beady-eyed redhead. 'The "squiggles", as you call them, are contour line, which show us how high up or down low those places are.'

Alistair closed his mouth (thank the gods, Annabeth was going to die from the smell of his breath) and considered Annabeth's words. Then he nodded, as if the information was slowly being downloaded into his small brain. Then he opened his mouth again.

Annabeth was two milliseconds away from screeching at him when the bell did the screeching for her. The sharp sound cut through the teacher's monotonous voice, signalling the end of third period.

Immediately, people began sliding out of their seat and tucking their books into their bags nestled beside their feet. Annabeth slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out the small sheet of paper with her fortnightly timetable printed on it.

She skimmed through it, her eyes landing on the second Thursday and the upcoming subject: English.

Ugh. She could _really_ do without English. Just glancing up at the board whenever the teacher wrote something on it with her extremely loopy cursive writing made Annabeth's dyslexia even worse.

But the only positive was that Michelle would be there.

Yes, Annabeth, the girl who was once annoyed by Michelle's presence, was actually _yearning_ for her this period.

What has her life become.

Annabeth pulled on her bag and slid through the classroom door and into the hallway, the layout of the school already imprinted in her mind. She ducked between people as she turned towards the classrooms in the English sector, the afternoon sunlight bursting through the large windows along the walls. She found her room towards the end of the corridor and slipped inside.

The classroom was fairly empty, with a few people who had already made it early gazing down at their textbooks as their teacher flicked through the papers lying on her desk. The back wall was plastered with giant posters of Shakespeare plays and movie quotes. The windows were open slightly, and the fluorescent light in the corner flickered constantly.

Annabeth's eyes immediately slid towards the back of the classroom, and she found Michelle sitting one seat from the far corner, slightly slouched as she read through a book that clearly wasn't the class novel.

Michelle looked up at Annabeth as she sat down in her seat, her dark brown eyes glinting in greeting. Annabeth caught a glimpse of her book's cover, but only very briefly, and with her dyslexia, she only made out: _O H MAN D AGE_.

Whispering 'Hi' to Michelle, Annabeth slipped out her own textbook, where she had sticky notes plastered all over the insides; the coloured papers were covered in Annabeth's neat Greek, and the words the teacher spoke didn't seem so hard to remember anymore.

Actually, it wasn't just Annabeth's desire to try out different methods to try and survive in this school where teachers taught subjects that went up and beyond the curriculum and where students grabbed every piece of scrap they could find to turn them into worthy models.

It was because this was a _break_ – a break from her life, the one where monsters crawled up her walls or followed her in the shadows. A break from the life where she had stroll around with a dagger in her hand in broad daylight, waiting for some impending attack. From the life where it had done more than enough things that would traumatise any kid her age.

Annabeth was living in a life of fear, even if she didn't _feel_ the fear all the time. She was always itching to strike down onto anything that could potentially hurt her, whether it be with her wits or with her weapons, but what else could she do? She was a human (or half human; it depended on where you look at it) – it was what almost everyone else would do.

So having been suddenly thrust into a world that she was accustomed to but also _completely bewildered _by was a change that Annabeth was initially reluctant to accept. And now, she realised it really was a good idea to be in a place where it was both comfortable and challenging.

Annabeth suddenly snapped out of her thoughts when she felt Michelle's gaze on her, and she quickly peered down into her textbook again, squinting at her tiny Greek letters.

It was lunch time, and Annabeth and Michelle shuffled towards the cafeteria. Michelle had closed her book ('It's called _Of Human Bondage_,' she said when Annabeth had asked) and offered to grab the two of them some garlic bread ('Comparatively, it's better than the other food the canteen sells,' Michelle had said).

While Michelle disappeared into a slowly elongating line in front of the cafeteria, Annabeth sat down at their usual spot and surrounded herself with their books, a small childish spark inside her wanting to pull the books closer and make a fort around her.

'Hey, Annabeth!'

Annabeth turned her head to see Ned walk up to her, his chubby, somewhat Filipino face glowing with delight upon seeing her. In his hands was a silver tray with a small plastic bowl and a spoon. He was wearing a jacket over a black shirt and jeans, and his small but heavy bag seemed to dig into his shoulders.

Annabeth gave him a smile as he slid into the table next to hers, careful not to disturb the books around her. 'Hey, Ned. What did you have?'

'I had Languages,' Ned said, fingering the spoon on his tray. The contents of his bowl looked...somewhat disturbing. Maybe that was why Ned seemed a little quiet – if there was one thing Annabeth had learned about him, it's that he rejoiced in good food and not the sludge the school cafeteria provided.

Or maybe he was lonely. What did he have again? Languages. Oh, none of his friends had Languages with him.

'Hmm,' Annabeth said as her theory proved itself correct as Peter and Alistair walked in. Ned's face lit up again, and it stayed lit as Peter gave his friend a fist-bump. He and Alistair dropped into their seats, with Peter and Ned sharing various news about their day, their friendly chatter echoing in Annabeth's ears.

Suddenly, Annabeth wished Michelle would come back quicker. Not that she couldn't survive without her, but because being around made her feel somewhat valued, even when Michelle seemed to not care one bit. She found something in Michelle that was akin to herself, and Annabeth longed to stay with her until she left.

Until she left.

Annabeth looked down at one of the books, stroking a finger along its spine. It wasn't until that moment she realised that the thought of staying at Midtown was only temporary – she had never thought about staying here in the long term, only until her business at Camp Half-Blood died down.

After that, she would move back to California.

Away from Michelle, from Ned, from Peter.

Wow, Annabeth was actually going to _miss these people_?

That's definitely a first.

Michelle arrived moments later, balancing two platters in her hands like some sort of princess training to carry piles of books while maintaining a dainty posture. Michelle walked behind Annabeth and handed her a tray, the faint smell of the cold garlic bread wafting up to her nose. She thanked Michelle when she sat down, and nibbled on the food.

She was dimly aware of Michelle snickering at something in her book when most of Annabeth's attention was snagged onto something towards her right.

Annabeth turned her head and stared at Peter, who had suddenly started sweating profusely. Ned hadn't seemed to notice, as he kept babbling and waving his hands around. Then Annabeth's gaze landed on Alistair, on his tight red shirt he wore since day one, on his messy orange hair.

On the single eye that stared back at her with hunger.

A Cyclops.

She'd been hanging out with a _Cyclops_, for a _week_.

And it was just _savouring_ it. Disgusting.

Annabeth stood up, telling Michelle that'd she'd be back after a quick trip to the bathroom. Her hand reflexively went to the pouch on the side of her pants, where she felt her dagger twisting when she moved. She'd brought it with her every day, just in case a situation like this occurred. Thankfully, no one else saw her holding a dagger – maybe a pen, or something, but never a lethal weapon.

Turning away, Annabeth strolled through the cafeteria and towards the bathroom, suddenly aware of how much quiet it had become. Or maybe it was the rush of blood in her ears cutting off any other sound.

Her pace quickened she saw the doors to the bathroom at the end of a corridor. Luckily, no one was here, so there should be no problem with Annabeth killing a monster in broad daylight. Except for the cleaners – they were going to have an extra hard time cleaning the dust off the floor.

Annabeth halted in front of the bathrooms, her mind raging. Wait, why did she stop? Was she supposed to just _wait_ for Alistair to turn up? That was not how a demigod killed a monster – actually, maybe it was, if she was going for a stealth attack.

_Stealth attack, then_, Annabeth thought. _Can't let anyone get hurt_.

Almost immediately, Annabeth felt a force slam into her, tossing her into door to the boys' bathroom. The door immediately gave way, swinging open and allowing her to tumble across the blue-tiled floor, her elbow banging painfully against the ground. Spitting some of her hair from her mouth, Annabeth looked up and eyed the bathroom. There were sinks bolted to the wall on her right, mirrors placed right above them. On her left were around ten toilets stalls, the blue doors swinging ajar at Annabeth's sudden arrival. Behind her was a skylight, sunlight filtering in. Towards the exit was a bin and a tissue paper dispenser hanging directly above it.

Annabeth gazed at Alistair, who nudged the door to the bathroom shut with his foot and crushed the lock embedded in the door – no escape.

There's always a way out, Annabeth thought. She just needed to find it.

'Well, I really was surprised to see it took you so long,' Alistair said, flashing his hideous grin. His eye glinted like a beetle's. 'I though you, the great Annabeth Chase, would have sniffed me out the moment I stepped into this school. Maybe your senses have gotten a little dull.'

'Can it,' Annabeth snapped, scrambling to her feet and reaching into the pouch hidden under her shirt. She brandished her Celestial Bronze dagger, which seemed to sparkle in the daylight. 'I knew something was fishy about you.'

'Regretting that you didn't stab me the first you saw me, eh?' Alistair cried out, laughing. He had grown taller, his figure slouching as his arms seemed to hang down by his sides. His head almost scraped the ceiling.

Annabeth flicked her dagger towards the Cyclops and was about to charge when the sound of scraping metal drew her attention to the bathroom door. It must have distracted Alistair too, because his grin faded and he turned around to see what was making that noise.

A curse – 'Damn, we really need to get these locks fixed' – and of all the people to walk in, Peter Parker appeared. He kept muttering about a door, and suddenly it occurred to Annabeth that he was talking the_ door _– the bathroom door whose lock Alistair had twisted and prevented anyone from coming in or out.

And Peter just so happened to _shove it open_?

Peter turned to one of the sinks, still grumbling, and he bobbed his head as he said, 'Oh, hey, Alistair.' He turned the tap on, bent down and grabbed a handful of water, and splashed it over his face. He straightened, and he stared into the mirror.

Stared right at Annabeth.

His eyes widened. 'Annabeth?' he spluttered, water dripping from his face. He whirled around, raising a hand to point at her. 'What are you doing in the boys' bathroom?' He looked at Annabeth's dagger. 'And why are you holding a knife?'

He could see through the Mist.

'It's not a knife, it's a pen,' Annabeth immediately said. Gods, Peter was going to get himself _killed_ if he kept talking. 'Peter, I need to get out of the bathroom.'

'You're holding a _knife_!' Peter hissed, eyes narrowing. 'How did you even get it inside the— you know what? I don't care. Annabeth, listen, I don't know what you're going to do, but I'm telling you to put the knife down.'

'She's not going to put the knife down,' Alistair said irritatingly, glancing at Peter. Annabeth growled.

'What do you mean she's not going to— _graahhh_!' Peter suddenly doubled over, his hand shooting up to his throat as if someone had tried to grab for it.

Grasping for an unseen opportunity, Alistair lashed out, curling a large hand around Peter's neck and crushing Peter's right hand against his throat. Peter was so caught up in shock he barely made a sound as Alistair lifted him off his feet.

'Peter!' Annabeth yelled. Her body wanted to fly at the Cyclops, but she knew that wouldn't work – if she ran at him head-on, who knew what it could trigger Alistair into doing. Heck, he might even squeeze the life out of Peter, and that was something she didn't want happening. Right now, she was in checkmate.

Alistair held Peter up to eye-level, and he sniffed, his nostrils flaring in a dramatic and disgusting way. The Cyclops scrunched his face as something similar to realisation seemed to dawn on him. 'Ah, now I see what's missing.'

Peter's eyes seemed to widen beyond human anatomy. 'I wasn't dreaming,' he rasped, his left hand clawing at Alistair's. 'You really _are_ messed up.'

'Hey, ugly, get your big fat eye on me!' yelled Annabeth, waving her dagger at the Cyclops.

'Cyclops?' Peter asked.

Alistair smiled at him. 'Yeah. And you smell just as dirty as the other one.'

Annabeth froze. And it all began to click. Peter's heightened awareness. His seemingly inhuman strength. His ability to see through the Mist. His "smell".

Peter was a _demigod_.

'I smell? I just showered this morning,' Peter wheezed, trying to kick at Alistair.

The Cyclops responded by drawing his arm back and throwing Peter. He landed in the far toilet stall, cracking the door in two with a loud _BANG_.

He didn't move.

A chill went through Annabeth's stomach, and she turned to face a grinning Alistair.

Rage burst from inside her, and Annabeth yelled, running forward and swiping at Alistair. The Cyclops growled, trying to flatten her with his foot, but Annabeth darted away and jabbed at his thigh. Alistair swung his fist, shattering a mirror. Glass rained down on both of them. The pattern kept going and going, until finally Annabeth leapt onto one of the sinks and pushed off, sinking her dagger into Alistair's eye. Dust burst from the wound, and Alistair screamed in anguish.

Annabeth was so caught up in the resulting satisfying howl that she didn't notice Alistair's hand fast enough. His fingers clamped around her middle, and he shook her around in the air. Annabeth's dagger slipped from her grip, and Alistair began to squeeze.

Agonising pain shot up Annabeth's spine and ribs as she let out a strangled gasp. She tried to kick Alistair in the face, but he held her away, his grip growing tighter and tighter. Annabeth wrestled with Alistair's fingers, but to no avail. Alistair laughed deeply, his eye sunken and pouring out golden dust.

Stars appeared in her vision as she tried to hang on, tried not to be snapped in two. She really did not see this happening. She really did not want it to end like _this_. She wanted to be in battle, fighting alongside her friends, fighting the monsters that were always there and trying to destroy their lives.

Not being squeezed to death in the boys' bathroom.

That just sounded ridiculous.

The faint sound of her thumping heartbeat echoed weakly in Annabeth's ears when suddenly a voice called, 'Hey, Alistair! I don't think murdering people is good for your job résumé!'

Alistair turned to the bathroom stalls – only to be promptly smacked across the face by a toilet stall's door. Surprised, Alistair dropped Annabeth and yowled, rubbing his face.

Annabeth dropped to the floor, inhaling a deep breath and ignoring the sharp pain in her ribs. As she lunged for the dagger, the Cyclops blindly reached out and was about to grab her again when another stall door was slammed against his chest, throwing him against the wall and cracking the tiles and plaster.

With a cry, Annabeth raised her dagger and sent it digging into Alistair's chest, right into his heart.

A quiet hiss escaped Alistair's lips as his head lolled to the size. His limbs began to disintegrate, but his head kept twitching. Annabeth had a suspicion that he was looking at her, even when his eye was gouged out. Alistair grinned, and rasped, 'This is only the beginning, half-blood.' He spat at her. 'More of us will come, because now you've made yourself an even bigger target...'

Alistair crumbled into a pile of golden ash, and the dust billowed around Annabeth before settling on her clothes. It grew quiet, except for the constant hum of some invisible breeze.

Then Annabeth realised that breeze was breathing. Hers and someone else's.

Annabeth turned around, and an unimaginable amount of relief flooded through her system when she saw Peter standing behind her, huffing, terror written clearly on his face. Specks of blood were splattered across his nose, but Annabeth couldn't find any wound of sorts on him. His clothes were covered in monster dust, and his eyes kept flicking back and forth from Annabeth, her dagger and where Alistair had last been.

Slowly, Annabeth stood up, sheathing her dagger. 'Peter? Are you—'

'Okay?' Peter finished, eyes wide, voice wavering. Annabeth stared at him. She could tell something about this unsettled him, but not in a cringey way, like seeing someone cut themselves with a knife. No, it seemed to hurt him on a personal level. 'No. Yeah. Definitely...not okay.'

Annabeth opened her mouth again, but Peter made a strangled sound and looked down at his hands, as if they were coated in blood and were responsible for an unwanted death. He turned and ran. He didn't even say anything to Annabeth, and it kind of hurt. She watched him heaving the broken bathroom door open and rushing outside, desperate to get away from whatever had happened.

Annabeth sighed, trying to wipe away the dust on her shirt. She looked in the mirror, at the cold expression that grace her face again. But deep down, her insides were boiling, with an emotion she couldn't really quiet name – regret? Sympathy? Empathy? Guilt? All four of them?

Yes, maybe she was feeling all of them. Regret because she had inadvertently made Peter suffer, and he wouldn't have to if Annabeth had figured out that Alistair was really a monster hanging over them. Sympathy because she felt sorry for him getting dragged into it. Empathy because she knew whatever Peter was feeling. And guilt because...she could have done better.

Could. It was in the past now. Nothing she could do about it now.

Except maybe move on without friends. Like always.

But a thought kept nagging at her. Alistair was hunting not only her, but Peter as well. And it made sense, now that she thought about, because Peter was a demigod.

And if he was a demigod, how had he survived for this long? And without any consequences?

The image of Peter's terrified face flashed in her mind, and Annabeth tried to block it out, instead focusing on washing her hands and on any clues that could determine his parentage.

He didn't display any powers, like controlling the water from the toilets, or summoning skeletons from the trash, so maybe he wasn't a demigod son of the Olympians. Unless he was the child of some minor god, but Annabeth knew that whatever Peter had done couldn't really be replicated by any children of the lesser gods. Heck, _were_ there any children of minor gods in New York?

And that was when Annabeth knew: she really couldn't let Peter go through this on his own, could she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *furiously scrambles to finish the final part*


	6. 0•5 || "For My Day of Salvation, and I'm Patient"

> **0•5 || "For My Day of Salvation, and I'm Patient"**

It had been two weeks. _Two weeks_.

Two weeks of completely avoiding Annabeth. Avoiding whatever craziness had happened in that bathroom. Always on his toes, just in case something decided to grab his neck again or try to squeeze the life out of the people he loved being with.

But with those two weeks of radio silence from Annabeth, a lot of things had wriggled into Peter's mind. For the first time, he realised that maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to do his homework for a couple of days.

It was the weekend, and Peter had no idea what to do with it. Aunt May was gone a little longer because there weren't enough staff at her job, so the head decided to have May work a few extra hours added to her shift.

Peter was in his room, fiddling with the small contraption in his hands that he had assembled only a few nights ago with scraps and spare metal and some of the chemicals he had stolen from school. (Well, not really _stolen_, per se. Does it count as stealing if he had created something in school without anyone noticing? Didn't that mean it was a project? Could he steal his own project?)

The contraption was clunky, with a circular band of steel that clasped to his wrist thanks to some Velcro and an adjustable cloth buckle he had found on an old worn cap. On four sides of the band were small rectangular cartridges, three of them empty while the fourth was filled with his (totally not stolen) chemicals. A thin lever sat welded on the inside of the metal band, the end of the lever sitting in the concave of his palm.

Peter eyed the gadget and flicked his wrist up and down, noting how the afternoon light caught on the delicate metal components. Pressed his middle and ring fingers on the lever, and a white liquid squirted depressedly from the small nozzle that was embedded in the fourth cartridge. The nozzle burped out the liquid, and the substance splattered to the floor in a stringy mess.

Sighing, Peter crawled out of his bed and reached for the screwdriver that lay on his desk. He sat in his chair and twirled in it, the screwdriver in his fingers twirling also.

'Ugh,' Peter muttered as he pressed the screwdriver into the side of the cartridge, tightening the nozzle. 'Guess the pressure hasn't increased as much as I thought it would have...funny, the release was already at a high pressure...maybe the velocity hasn't quite caught up yet...hypothesis, nozzle needs to be _tighter_.'

At the last word, Peter twisted the screwdriver a smidge, careful not to accidentally drive the screws too deep into the already thin metal.

He still couldn't believe how he didn't need to use the school's vices anymore – he could bend metal with his bare hands, but then again, everyone can bend aluminium, right? Maybe stainless steel wasn't too far off in terms of malleability.

But the thing was, a half-inch-thick rod of stainless steel needed at least four hundred meagpascals of force to bend. The steel that was currently clasped around Peter's wrist was twice that thick, and he'd bent that with nothing but his hands.

So Peter couldn't really decide between him having supposed "super strength", or that his stainless steel spoons were really made of vibranium.

Peter pressed his fingers against the level again, and the nozel sprayed the liquid again. This time, it landed on the back of his chair instead of at his feet, which was definitely an improvement.

He was about to get up when someone knocked on his door.

Peter whipped his head to the door and froze. Was that May? But she said she wouldn't be back until 7:30 that evening. Peter checked the clock. It was 5:12. Wracking his brains, Peter was trying to remember whether he had invited Ned over without thinking when—

'Peter? You in here?'

Annabeth Chase.

She was in his _home_.

'Uh, what? Hey— uh, wh-what are doing here, of course I'm not in my room,' Peter stuttered.

He mentally stabbed himself in the head. _Great going, Peter. Telling someone you're not inside a room when you clearly are will make everyone believe that you are nothing but an idiot._

Annabeth hummed in response. 'Hmm, yeah, sure you aren't.'

Why was she sounding so casual?

Slipping the contraption of his wrist and letting it fall to his desk with a _thunk_, Peter shot up swiftly and yanked his door open with so much force he was scared he was about to rip it off its hinges.

On the other side stood Annabeth Chase, her blonde hair clipped to the side as she stared at Peter with her grey eyes. She had a jacket on and jeans, and she looked like she really didn't want to be here, except that she _had_ to.

'What are you doing here?' Peter asked, doing a somewhat poor job of hiding the cold and bitter tone in his voice.

'I came to talk,' Annabeth said, tilted her head up a little.

'You could have called me.'

'You would have ignored me.'

'I...I wouldn't ignore you.'

'You clearly have been, seeing as you literally cut off all contact with me for two weeks.'

Peter rubbed a hand over his face and leaned against his doorframe, groaning as Annabeth continued. 'Listen, I know whatever happened...happened, but that doesn't mean you have to avoid me like the plague. I know what happened there, too – even more than you, actually.' Annabeth sighed. 'I came here to say that...maybe it's time you stopped ignoring everything that's happening around you. Why don't you just open up your eyes and face the reality of everything right now?'

Peter didn't mean to snap. He really didn't.

But in that moment, his annoyance bubbled into a single beam of rage, and he slammed his hand against the wall with a loud _CRACK_.

Annabeth flinched and stepped back. Peter, who was also surprised, tried to step forward, only halting when his hand seemed to glue itself to the wall. Peter growled, 'Listen, I get that you want to help me, but why not do it in a more civilised way? Instead of barging into people's homes without warning and demanding them to, what was it, _open their eyes_?'

Peter yanked his hand off the wall. 'I'm pretty sure you've already figured this out already, but as you can tell, my parents are dead and the only people I have left are my aunt and uncle. _They_ are the parents I've never had. Now, I don't think you know, with you being new and everything, but right now I'm in a state of _shit_. Everything I've ever known is _gone_ and my name is written all over it _in blood_, so please, _do not_ give me the talk about me trying to step up and take responsibility for whatever the hell is going on! Just...p-please don't...'

And then suddenly Peter was there. He was shaking, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket as the wind reached out with ghostly fingers and stroked them against his skin. It was drizzling lightly, small specks of water floating down from the sky. Why was he out here again? Something wrong, something wrong...home...something was here, why was it here?

'Peter?'

In response to his name, Peter turned around and his eyes immediately latched onto the brown combed hair of his Uncle Ben. His hazel eyes were shrouded in worry, and Ben shuffled closer to Peter, pulling his own jacket tighter around himself.

'Peter?' Ben called again. 'What are you doing?'

'Please leave me alone,' Peter mumbled, turning away. He tried to disappear into the shadows of the alleys, but Ben placed a firm hand on his shoulder and made him face him.

'Peter, you have to tell me what's going on,' Ben murmured. His wrinkled face looked old and ancient in the dim streetlights. 'What's going on? You haven't exactly been acting yourself lately...'

Peter sighed, allowing himself to lean into the warm touch of his uncle's hand. 'It's nothing,' he started. Ben was about to say something else, but Peter cut him off, saying, 'No, really, it's fine. I'm just...tired. Maybe stressed. Yeah, stressed. School's hard, ya'know? Can't believe I actually said that, but still—'

'You're a terrible liar, Peter' Ben interrupted, smiling sadly.

Peter flushed, his face warming. He couldn't turn back now, could he? He had to come clean...come clean with the only other person who seemed to understand him, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. 'Ben, I...I think something's wrong with me.'

'In what way?' Ben asked immediately, hands flying up to stroke Peter's cheek as his eyes scanned him from head to foot.

'Well, uh, just...just nightmares, at my lowest point. But then...then it's not so nightmare-y? Suddenly everything seems way too clear, I hear too much, and, and, and suddenly my fingers are latching onto walls? I can climb _up the walls_? Are you sure I'm not...not some sort of _mutant_ at this point?'

'Oh, Peter,' Ben sid softly, looking at him with a look of sympathy. 'How did this happen? When did it all start?'

'When I got sick,' Peter sniffed. He wiped the rain from his face. 'But it's nothing serious,' Peter added. 'Actually...maybe not, maybe it is serious— see?! I can't tell what anything is anymore! Maybe I'm dying, oh my god, Ben, I'm so sorry, I didn't want this to be how our night went, god, my head is pounding, like there's a large snake inside my skull trying to slurp up my brain, there are nightmares waiting in my room everytime I walk in, I'm dying—'

'Peter! Pete, slow down!' Ben wrapped his arms around Peter, and it took seconds for Peter to realise that it wasn't the rain sliding down his cheeks but his own _tears_ because in that moment something very cold and very frigid was forming in the pit of his stomach because _everything is wrong, why is everything wrong?_

'Peter, please, what happened? I'm begging you, I can't have you rambling this,' Ben pleaded. He pulled back from the hug and he stared deep into Peter's eyes. 'Please, deep breaths. We can go somewhere else, a little quiet. Central Park, maybe?'

Peter wanted nothing more than to say, _Yes! Yes, please, let's go to Central Park and hide under the branches and watch the rain drizzle through the leaves_. He wanted nothing more than to move, out of the dark alleyway with the creepy lighting and the annoying bugs and the constant humming of water dripping into the drains and the hot, wet breaths that were pressed up against Peter's neck.

Wait.

No.

No, not _now, please not now—_

'_AAARRGHH!_' Peter screamed, his hands flying up. His head seemed to be splitting at the seams, screaming and hollering at Peter to move, to get his legs to work and _move_. The pain set every nerve in his body on fire and turned his blood to ice but for some reason he just couldn't _MOVE DAMN IT PARKER_.

'Ben,' Peter whimpered, grabbing Ben's arm. 'Ben Ben Ben move move run run _please_—'

'Peter!' Ben tugged at his arm. He was looking at something behind Peter.

'_Oh no_,' was all Peter said when suddenly there was something scooping him up from behind. His arms were pinned to his sides and his ribcage suddenly burst with pain and a raspy sound wriggled out from his mouth.

'Peter!' cried Ben. He tried to grab something – and arm? – before he was swatted aside. He slammed into a nearby trash can with a _CLANG_.

'You are all so stubborn,' a voice hissed by Peter's ear. 'What's the point in you all running away? You know we always find you half-bloods.'

_Half-bloods?_

Peter let out a strangled cry when whoever behind began to crush his ribcage. He could feel his ribs trying to resist the pressure, but oh God it hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the everlasting pain.

'GET AWAY FROM HIM!'

Peter's eyes shot open just as Uncle Ben threw the trash can' lid at whoever was holding Peter. The lid connected with their head, sending them howling and dropping Peter.

He crumbled to the ground and scrambled for the shadows, gulping in the sweet, damp air when he heard a cracking voice. The back of Peter's neck felt like someone was tracing their fingers across it. Peter turned and his stomach plunged into the depths of hell.

Ben was staring at Peter, his unshed tears evident in the dim lighting. At this vantage point, Peter could see what he couldn't see a few moments ago: a large man, probably twice the size of the most muscular person on Earth, was standing over Ben. His large hands were placed on his uncle's head and the base of his neck.

Ben mouthed, _I love you_.

Peter whimpered.

The large man grunted, and his hands twisted in opposite directions.

_Snap_.

Peter's voice immediately died. He couldn't even bring himself to make a _sound_. He couldn't move, couldn't blink couldn't even think. He was stuck in time while time itself moved around him.

The large man tossed Ben's limp body away, colliding with a dumpster with a dull _BANG_. The man looked up, and Peter saw the large eye that peeked out from underneath the man's hat. The man growled, then hollered, for Peter. Waiting and howling for Peter to come out because there was no place to hide for a person like him.

A person like him.

A person like _him_.

A person who had strength and could stick themselves to any surface – any other person like _him_ would have done something. They would have leapt out to try and drag Ben from that man. Would have saved Ben.

But Peter was too frozen up in shock. He always had been. Always will be.

The man with the one eye growled, and after a moment of silence, he trudged out of the alley. Grumbling about how demigods were so persistent in running around aimlessly.

Peter's mind began to quieten, and his muscles unlocked. He shot to his feet and stumbled forward, collapsing next to the cold figure of Ben. He held in a sob. Ben's neck was twisted in an odd angle, his chin propped up far behind his shoulder. A small stream of blood leaked out of his nose.

'No, no, _no_,' Peter whispered. He leaned forward and gentle lifted Ben's head from the cold, wet ground and layed it in his lap. Ben's hair felt unnaturally sticky, or maybe that was just Peter's adhesive hands. Suddenly, the drizzling rain became a rough downpour, the water splashing over his face.

'No, don't leave me, please,' pleaded Peter, pressing his own head against his uncle's, feeling the rain trail down his skin. 'Please, Ben, you can't go, your promised...I'm sorry...'

'Peter?'

The sudden ice in his system suddenly melted, and Peter found himself lying on his bed, a wet paper towel over his forehead. He heaved a deep breath, feeling like needles were pressing into his eyeballs.

He glanced to the right, and standing sheepishly by the door, as if she had never moved, was Annabeth. She looked at him with concern.

Peter tried for a dry smile. 'S-Sorry, Annabeth,' he said, sniffing. 'Guess I should've at least turned to look at you when you called my name.'

Annabeth didn't reply. She was still standing a good three feet away, her head hanging a little lower than before. She was hugging herself, and when Peter looked at her face...he only saw empathy.

Annabeth had that look where she was processing all of the information thrown at her, trying to find bits and pieces in her mind that matched with the new information. Like she was trying to find some part of Peter's life in her own.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Annabeth quietly said, 'Your parents aren't dead. Well, one of them isn't.'

Peter's head shot up, and his mouth opened, but Annabeth had already moved. She stepped closer and lifted Peter's hand, closely examining it. Peter was confused as to why she probably found his calloused hands interesting, but then he looked down at his palm, and his confusion branched into dread.

His skin was covered with flakes of white paint, as if someone had taken a brush and dusted his hand with paint. Annabeth was trying to scrape a small flake of the stuff off his skin, and Peter winced as her nail slid across his skin. Peter looked up at the doorframe, and his stomach barely flipped to see a handprint on the frame – right where he had slammed his hand into.

When he looked back, Annabeth was looking at Peter, her eyes twinkling, a window to her mind, which seemed to be speeding faster than light.

Peter groaned as he tried to sit up, swinging his feet off his bed as he turned to face Annabeth. He clapped his hands together, and the small flakes of paint on his hands fluttered to the ground. 'Explain,' he said, though much softly than when Annabeth first came into his room.

Annabeth inhaled, looking as if she already had this conversation with many others before her. 'Do you know anything about the Greek myths?' she asked finally.

Oh, Peter knew plenty. Ever since Ben died, he had scoured through everything – websites, textbooks, even novels – to gain every tidbit of knowledge. Nevertheless, Peter nodded.

'What about the Greek gods?'

Peter knew about them, too. 'Yeah.'

'They're real.'

Peter blinked. 'Um, okay,' he said slowly, unsure if Annabeth trying to trick him. When he saw her confused expression, he elaborated, 'I mean, Thor exists, and we thought he was a Norse myth, so why not the Greeks? Sure.'

Annabeth blinked instead, and then she sighed. She pointed to Peter's chair, and he gestured for her to sit down. When she did, she said, 'Okay, then, that makes half my job easier. So...I'm sure you've heard of demigods, right? Well, um, what if I told that you were a demigod?'

'Would it be okay for you if I said, "Why are you quoting the "You are adopted" meme"?'

Annabeth glared at him, and Peter realised she was moving onto a serious topic. Of course, he knew this was serious, definitely, but he didn't like how serious it was becoming, so he replied with, 'Um, no, I don't think that's possible. I mean, I haven't seen anyone like Zeus come down and have a kid with anyone these days, so...'

'The Greek gods are more inconspicuous compared to Thor and all the other Norse gods,' Annabeth said. A shadow passed her face, but it vanished just as quickly. 'It...doesn't happen often, but when it does, we have demigods. You know, a child born from both god and mortal. I'm one of them. And so are you.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' Peter replied, sitting up a little straighter. 'My parents...well, you already know, they're dead. Went on a plane for an expedition, fell out of the sky, boom – they're dead. There's no way one of my parents could have hooked up with a god.'

'Well, you see...' Annabeth wriggled her fingers. 'I did a little digging.'

Peter narrowed his eyes. 'How much digging?' he asked hesitantly.

'Your mother, Mary Parker...she's a demigod, too.'

'I...what?' Peter leaned forward. 'How do you know that? Where'd you get that information? Everything, her records and files, they were burned later on after she died.'

Annabeth looked up at Peter. She looked at the window, then at the door, and then she pulled the chair a little closer to Peter. 'There's a place. For people like us. A camp. The director has files on everyone who comes and goes. Your mother was in one of them.'

Everything seemed a little too bright. Peter rubbed his eyes, trying to get the swirling information to settle down in his brain. 'Okay, you're saying that the Greek gods are real – sure, understandable. Then you're saying I'm a demigod. And now you're saying my _mother_ was a demigod. Can a demigod have demigod children? Is that possible? Are you sure that doesn't break any, I don't know, interdimensional laws or anything?'

Annabeth held up a hand to slow Peter down. 'Listen, I don't know, but it's happened before. Very rarely. And I'm only saying this because you exhibit traits that most demigods have. Think about it – Alistair said that you had some sort of scent – it's the stuff monsters use to find us. You're fast, you're strong, you're durable, and have ADHD and dyslexia, and so on—'

'I don't have ADHD or dyslexia,' Peter said. For the first time, Annabeth looked up with doubt in her eyes.

'You don't?' she asked.

'No. I've had mild asthma when I was younger, but it's gone now.' Peter shifted on the bed. His mind flashed with fresh images of a long-gone Ben, his form limp in Peter's arms, the howls of the one-eyed man – a Cyclops – ringing through the night. His screaming head, his strength, the adhesiveness of his hands and feet, they hadn't started until—

'I had a spider bite,' Peter said.

'You were bit by a spider?' Peter saw the faintest of shivers run through Annabeth, but he dismissed it.

'Yeah. We...my class went on a field trip a couple of months ago, to Oscorp Industries. We were viewing most of their equipment that they had on display. We went to see a genome isotope accelerator, and I think a spider was caught up inside the machine. It...it bit me. I was sick for a few days, but then I quickly got better. And then...this happened.'

Peter got up and he jumped. Annabeth leaned back and gasped, because Peter hadn't tumbled back into his bed or fallen onto the grown head-first. Instead, Peter stood up again.

On the _ceiling_.

Peter looked down at Annabeth, his hair trying to dishevel itself by reaching towards the ground. He gripped the hem of his red sweater, keeping it from sliding up his torso, and he grinned lightly at Annabeth as he shifted the weight on his feet that were stuck to the ceiling.

Annabeth was at a loss for words, and only gaped.

For a while, they just watched each other's expressions, before finally Peter flipped back down onto the ground with barely any sound. At this point, Annabeth had stood up and was looking around in her pockets for something. When she found whatever it was, she slipped Peter a small and crinkled business card. She said, 'It's not mine, I just borrowed it from a friend.'

Peter looked down at the card, which read:

_Grover Underwood, Keeper_  
Half-Blood Hill  
Long Island, New York  
(800)009-0009

'I want you to come,' Annabeth said as Peter tucked the card into his own pocket. 'Because I now have questions of my own. I want to find the answers, and I know you do, too. This place is the only place we can find those answers. Look, I know it takes a long time to adjust, but please, it's for the best. For you, for me, and for everyone else. It means...' She took a deep breath. '...It means keeping our loved ones out of our mess.'

That line struck something inside Peter. Maybe because he was still in grief, or maybe he just wanted to see what exactly this was all about – maybe both, maybe neither.

But either way, he nodded.

Annabeth awkwardly patted his hand. 'Stay safe,' she said as she backed out of his room. 'And remember: make up your mind quick, because if there's one thing I know, it's that the monsters are lurking everywhere. Camp is a good place to get your defences up. Call me when you've made up your mind, okay?'

She waved, and Peter waved back. He only slumped into his chair as he heard Annabeth exit his apartment and close the door behind her.

It had been two weeks. _Two weeks_.

Two weeks since having that possibly life-altering chat with Annabeth Chase. Their chat ended with her telling him to call her when he made up his mind.

To go to this Camp, find the answers to the questions that burned in his mind. Protect himself, which in turn would protect others around him.

It seemed like a good option.

But Peter hadn't gone for it.

Instead, he was standing on the edge of a relatively small building in Manhattan – the Daily Bugle's headquarters, to be exact. He was wearing the same red sweater he had worn when Annabeth had barged into his room uninvited, but this time with the sleeves neatly cut off and replaced with blue ones from another old sweater he owned. He wore slim blue sweatpants and a pair of red boots that were snug around his feet and forelegs.

Peter looked down at his wrists and tapped his newly-adjusted web-shooters, as he so called them. They were still clunky, sure, but he managed to fix up the nozzles' pressure-velocity problem, so that was good. He had added an extra few millilitres of salicyclic acid and synthetic polymers, which increased its tensile strength.

He was confident that this would work – he had been practicing in the small, shadowed alleys of Queens, swinging from either end of the alley and watching at how such a thin strand could support nearly fifty times his weight.

And now, he was...ready, he guessed.

This was it, right? After two weeks, it all came to this – him standing on the edge of a building, ready to jump, ready to test his new "web fluid" and see if it worked. If not, he'd have a ninety-eight-percent chance of becoming a human pancake on the ground.

Peter looked over the building's edge, the faint early morning sun on his back. Seventy floors below him, traffic raged on like a beast, cars honking and beeping and swerving on the roads. People were trudging through the crazy mess, looking at their phones or blocking the world off with their headphones.

Breathing in, Peter reached up and slid the cotton mask over his face, which had been resting over his scalp for a while. He adjusted the fabric, making sure the sewn-in ski goggles were aligned with his eyes. The fabric immediately quietened New York's sounds, but only by a bit, as his ears were already working overtime.

Stepping back ten paces, Peter looked up and faced the other skyscrapers that loomed in front of him. Birds fluttered in the cool breeze, cooing and chirping. Sunlight reflected off the metallic surfaces, throwing rainbow coloured lights everywhere.

He took a moment, just surveying the peacefulness of it all. It was wonderful, with people working in harmony with this city – helping others, giving the poor what they really need, giving others the hope they needed to move on, to be better.

This...this was Peter's second chance.

He could come back, do it all for them. For Ben, for May, for Annabeth, for all the others who were scarred and broken when they shouldn't be. He could help _them_ come back.

_Now or never, Pete_, he thought to himself. _Let's see if humans really can fly_.

And with that thought, Peter ran forward, his feet thudding againt the ground. Almost immediately, adrenaline surged through his blood, and made his chest flutter. The air twisted around him. The world seemed to slow around him as the edge of the building drew nearer and nearer.

One final step—

—and—

—he—

—leaped.

Peter fell through the air, heart thudding, wind whistling around him. The buildings and the sky and the ground all hurtled in and out of his vision, but he kept his head tilted downward.

A tingle flitted through his spine and through his arm.

He raised his hand and aimed at wherever his enhanced senses wanted him to aim at. His fingers curled around the lever and he heard the satisfying _thwip_ over the roar of the wind as the fluid shot out of his web-shooter.

He felt it latch onto another building, and he pulled the web taut.

A scream of glee ripped itself out of Peter's mouth as his downward fall was smoothly grafted into momentum, and his arc was swift and wide. He let go of his web at the peak of his arc, and he saw _everything._

He saw the rising sun, golden and glorious in the sky. He saw the buildings rising up around him, the birds flying between them. He saw the people below, some of them stopping as they looked up at him, pointing and trying to wave at him.

This was what peace felt like.

And that was when Peter knew: this was just the beginning.

_• End of Threads are Woven •_


	7. Volume 1 || Down in the Dark

>   
**1**•**0 || Volume 1: Down in the Dark**

_Some steps need to be taken alone._  
_It's the only way to really figure out where_  
_you need to be._  
– Mandy Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you guys knew, but there is a sequel to _Threads are Woven_. I just wanted to make sure that you guys who have subscribed to THIS story but haven't been notified of the next one know that _Down in the Dark_ is already up with the first few chapters.
> 
> Anyways, have a great day! Or night. Or...you know what, just enjoy whatever time zone you're in!!  
~DemigodOfAgni


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